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Monday, May 31, 2010

When I write, I jump from journal to journal, building on previous entries and scratching down what movies I want to see this weekend, what I need to bring to work tomorrow, and my philosophical insights all together into a multiple volume memoir that still lacks a definite conclusion. After all, I write about my life, and at 23, I don't know if I've lived long enough to come up with any definite conclusions. But I'm coming to realize that may not be such a bad thing.

Writing is a free association escape that supplements the coherence I need in my daily life to stay sane. It is my meticulous whimsy.